The dense forest whispered its secrets as a small figure in a faded cotton dress slipped between the trees. The chill of a June morning sent shivers through Emily, but she stubbornly pressed on, pushing aside prickly branches with hands long accustomed to scratches.
— Teddy! Bunny! Where are you?
Her thin voice rang out, echoing off the pine trunks.
— Dolly, answer me!
The echo carried her words deeper into the woods, but there was no response. Emily furrowed her brow, bit her lip, and continued forward. Today, she was determined to find her toys, which, according to her Grandma Evelyn, had gotten lost in the forest.
Suddenly, a sharp pine branch whipped across her face, leaving a long scratch on her cheek. Emily cried out in surprise, pressing her palm to her face and feeling warm moisture. Blood.
Her child’s heart pounded faster, not from the pain, but from the fear of what awaited her at home.
— Green stuff again!
She muttered, wincing at the mere thought of the stinging antiseptic liquid that Grandma Evelyn used to treat all scrapes. The last time Grandma Evelyn had pulled out the bottle of green iodine, Emily had nearly knocked over the entire medicine cabinet in her attempt to escape.
Later, of course, she stood still, clenching her fists and biting her lip, while Grandma Evelyn’s knobby, warm hands gently touched the scrape on her knee. Emily sat down on a fallen log covered in soft moss. Nearby, a little stream bubbled cheerfully, leaping over pebbles.
The girl scooped up a handful of cold water and washed her face, rinsing away the blood. «The water’s icy, like the well back home,» she thought, and suddenly recalled Grandma Evelyn’s old rhyme: «Cool water, take away the pain and fever.» Emily glanced at her reflection in a small whirlpool in the stream.
From there, a serious little face looked back at her, with big eyes the color of hazelnuts and thin light braids peeking out from under a faded kerchief. A red streak of the scratch crossed her cheek. She carefully touched the wound.
It didn’t hurt much.
— It’s nothing,
She said to her reflection.
— I’ve had worse.
Around her, birds sang, leaves rustled, and old pines creaked, sharing ancient stories with one another.
Emily loved these sounds; they seemed far more understandable to her than the whispers of the townsfolk when she passed by their yards. Orphan. Poor thing.
Even now, sitting by the stream, Emily heard those voices in her head again. Grandma Evelyn’s tale about her parents always sounded beautiful. Dad was a musician who went off to distant lands to collect songs for people, and Mom was so light and beautiful that a strong wind carried her up to the sky.
Emily imagined her mom watching her from the clouds, while her dad wandered the world with a guitar slung over his shoulder. But the neighborhood boy Tommy, a bully with perpetually scraped knees, had once shouted after her: «Your dad’s in a box, and your mom died giving birth to you.»
Emily had frozen in place then, before slowly turning around. She didn’t cry, didn’t run away; she just looked at Tommy with a long stare that made him suddenly falter and back away.
— That’s not true,
She said quietly.
— My dad collects songs for people.
Then she went home and sat on the porch for a long time, staring at the road stretching to the horizon. That evening, Grandma Evelyn found her there, with red eyes but no tears.
Evelyn had hugged her granddaughter with her big arms, smelling of herbs and fresh-baked bread, and asked nothing. A few days later, Emily overheard Grandma Evelyn talking to the neighbor Mary.
— And why are you filling the girl’s head with your stories?
Mary said.
— Tell her the truth, that her father died of tuberculosis, and her mother passed during childbirth.
— What truth?
Evelyn cut her off.
— She’ll see enough of that truth in time. Let her live in a fairy tale for now.
From then on, Emily knew that Tommy, though a bully, had told the truth. But somehow, it didn’t make things easier.
And Grandma Evelyn’s fairy tale about the mom flown to the sky and the dad gone for songs was much warmer and more understandable than «passed» and «died.» The sky over the forest began to lighten, the sun rising higher. Emily jumped up from the fallen log.
It was time to resume her search. After all, she hadn’t come to the forest just for a walk, but for her missing toys. The very ones that had disappeared a month ago, when Grandma Evelyn said they got lost in the woods.
In truth, Emily suspected the toys hadn’t really been lost. She had seen Grandma Evelyn wrapping the plush Teddy, the doll with the porcelain face, and the wind-up Bunny in newspaper. Seen her carry the bundle away somewhere.
The next day, when Emily asked where her toys were, Grandma Evelyn averted her eyes and said:
— They’re lost, sweetie. Lost in the forest. Maybe they’ll turn up yet.
She couldn’t tell her granddaughter that she’d sold them to afford school supplies, at least the basics. And so Emily started going into the forest.
Every day, early in the morning, while Grandma Evelyn was lighting the stove or tending the garden. She knew it wasn’t true about the lost toys. But she searched anyway.
Because if Grandma Evelyn said «lost in the forest,» then that’s what needed to be said. Life with Grandma Evelyn had taught Emily many things. For example, that bread tastes better when shared with someone.
That patched and repatched socks can be warmer than new ones if mended with love. That sometimes you have to lose something to keep something more important. Emily’s toys were beautiful, colorful, expensive—not like the ones the town kids had.
«Your mother bought them before you were born,» Grandma Evelyn would say. «All prepared for your arrival.» Then she’d add quietly, as if to herself, like she knew she wouldn’t see you grow up.
Now the toys were gone. But there was bread in the house and new rubber boots for Emily. Grandma Evelyn had bought them at the fair in the neighboring town, after selling the goat.
The boots were a bit big, for growing into, as Evelyn said, but Emily was glad for them anyway. «Who cares about toys,» she reasoned, stepping between the trees. «Maggie from next door has just one rag doll for her whole life.
And I have a whole forest with branch animals and pinecone dolls.» The path led Emily to a small clearing surrounded by young pines. Beyond it began the part of the forest Grandma Evelyn forbade her to enter.
There was a steep ravine there; it wouldn’t take much to break your neck. But right there, beyond the tallest pine, ran the road where cars from the city sometimes passed. Emerging at the edge of the clearing, Emily froze.
On the road, just near the edge, stood a black car. Shiny like the back of a stag beetle she’d once found under a log. It was a city car, big, with tinted windows—not like Uncle Fred’s beat-up tractor or the old pickup of the teacher from the local school.
Emily instinctively stepped back into the shadow of a pine. Her heart pounded with excitement. The car had stopped right opposite where she stood.
The door opened, and a man stepped out. «Now,» thought Emily, holding her breath, «now one of my toys will be found. Maybe this man brought them back?» Her child’s imagination painted an utterly improbable but so pleasing picture.
The stranger pulls her plush Teddy, the porcelain-faced doll, and the wind-up Bunny from the trunk.
— Here,
He says,
— I found your toys in the city. They asked me to bring them home.
And Emily takes them, hugs them close, then runs home to show Grandma Evelyn, who smiles and shakes her head: «What did I tell you? Lost in the forest, found in the forest.» But the man from the car wasn’t pulling toys from the trunk.
Instead, he nervously glanced around, clutching some bundle to his chest. Emily watched him with her heart frozen. The man from the black car was unlike the townsfolk.
Everything about him was different, from his shiny shoes utterly unfit for dusty paths to his dark suit that seemed out of place in the summer forest. He was like a bird that had accidentally flown into the wrong flock. Tall, with hair slicked back, a pale face, and furrowed brows.
In one hand, he held the bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Emily held her breath, pressing against the rough bark of the pine. Her heart beat so loudly it seemed it could be heard at the other end of the forest.
She didn’t know why she was hiding. The city man posed no danger. But something in his tense posture, in his jerky, abrupt movements, made her stay in the shadows.
The man crossed the strip between the road and the forest with quick steps. He walked, lifting his feet high, as if afraid to soil his expensive shoes. Sometimes he stopped and looked around.
His gaze skimmed the trees, the bushes, as if searching for someone or fearing he was being watched. Once he looked straight toward where Emily hid, and she pressed into the tree trunk, holding her breath, though she knew she was invisible behind the thick pine branches. The bundle in the man’s hands shifted slightly.
Emily blinked, not believing her eyes. Had she imagined it, or did the blue blanket really move? The man stopped at a tall pine on the forest’s edge.
He glanced back at the road one last time, then with a quick motion bent down and placed the bundle on the ground under the spreading branches of the pine. His movements were sharp, as if he were hurrying to rid himself of the burden. Then he straightened, smoothed his hair with a nervous gesture, and headed back to the car with rapid steps.
Emily froze, not understanding what was happening. The man got into the black car, the engine roared, and the vehicle sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind. What was that? Thought the girl, stepping out from her hiding place.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, looking alternately at the receding car and the bundle under the pine. Her first thought was that a miracle had happened today—a real Santa Claus had come in summer and left her a gift. Not under the Christmas tree at home, but under a real pine in the forest.
She reasoned, taking a cautious step toward the mysterious bundle. But then she stopped, doubting. First, Santa didn’t look like that; he should have a beard and a red suit.
Second, it was far from Christmas. Maybe it’s a gift for the forest animals? A new guess arose. Then she couldn’t touch it.
That would be wrong. Taking someone else’s gifts. Emily took another step toward the pine but stopped again, not daring to approach closer.
Something about this situation was strange. Grandma Evelyn always taught her not to take other people’s things and not to pick up what lies on the road. But the bundle wasn’t lying around.
It had been deliberately placed under the pine. The girl reasoned. And if it was left for the animals, then I’ll just peek with one eye and put it back.
She promised herself, taking the first step toward the pine. The bundle under the pine shifted again, and this time Emily was sure it wasn’t her imagination. She quickened her pace, forgetting her doubts.
Something alive lay under the pine, wrapped in the blue blanket, and that something needed help. A kitten? The thought flashed. Or a puppy? Maybe the city man found a wounded animal in the forest and left it here for someone to help? Taking a deep breath, she knelt before the bundle and carefully folded back the edge of the blue blanket.
And the world around her froze. From under the blanket, two tiny eyes looked at her. Not a kitten, not a puppy, not a wounded bird.
A baby. A real, live baby, with tiny fingers, pink cheeks, and sparse dark hairs on its head. Emily recoiled, pressing her hands to her mouth.
Her heart pounded so hard it seemed it would jump out of her chest. «This can’t be,» she thought. «This only happens in fairy tales.»
But the baby in the bundle was very real. It blinked, looking at Emily, and its tiny mouth opened as if about to cry. But instead of crying, a quiet coo escaped its lips.
What to do? Emily looked around in confusion, as if the answer might be hidden among the trees. She couldn’t leave the child in the forest. That she understood for sure.
So, she needed to take it with her. But how? And what would Grandma Evelyn say? At the thought of Evelyn, Emily felt a pang of fear. Grandma would scold her.
She’d say it’s no good wandering the woods, that proper girls stay home and help with chores, not stick their noses where they don’t belong. But then Emily remembered how Grandma Evelyn had been when neighbor Tommy split his knee open falling from the fence by their house. How she’d rushed to him, forgetting all past grudges, how she’d treated the wound, lamenting and scolding at the same time, how she’d then given him tea with raspberry jam.
And Tommy was someone else’s child, not her grandchild. «Grandma will help,» decided Emily. She knows what to do.
With that thought, she leaned over the baby again. It looked at her with curiosity, its tiny fingers wiggling, clenching and unclenching.
— Don’t be afraid,
Whispered Emily.
— I won’t leave you. We’ll go to my grandma. She’s kind, even if she grumbles sometimes.
The baby blinked, as if understanding her words. Emily carefully lifted the bundle. It was unexpectedly heavy for such a small being.